Behead me for I am a fool
in love with the red dance
of your lithe shadow,
torture me for I am an idiot
dressed in the rags of hope,
stone me for the anguished
emptiness I cry out in,
as you pass deliberately dagger
eyed and gimlet mouthed by the
open door of your home.
I would be beaten and flayed than
never know your smile, fall in
dung and be refused ablution
than never hear your singing voice
in my kitchen.
At night, visions of you haunt my
dreams, your tapered fingers
reaching for mine as I stumble beneath the
cold starless sky.
You lead me gently to your hearth fires,
offer tea , treat me as an honoured
guest and in my heaving bosom thankful
tears drown me in famished desire.
Then I awake and even this is torn,
even this silken kiss of skin snatched
from my aspiring and I awaken to the
black truth once more. I am bereft of even
this self-deceit, this contemptuous trickery
of my maddened mind and feel the loneliness
of the moon kissed lunatic.
Send them my cold distant love, send your
father and brothers, send them with sticks
flails and whips to beat me from your door,
your pure modesty demands it , your family’s
good name insists that your love must be
denied. Send them and not your snatched
End my living in this hell.
I’m sick of this charade, this theatre of
puppets living my life as if I have no curiosity,
where turning over a rock to find reason crawling
there is like dropping a wet fart in an elevator
full of Imams.
I am sick of having some big fat invisible hand up
my pained backside and it moving my tongue
with its index of revealed truths, I’m tired of it closing
my eyes making me recite the Victory march to oblivion
like an upturned porcelain doll hopping
to the sound of the Ottoman kettle drums.
Damn it I am nauseous with the taste of my
own sense of shame, as it washes around my
throat like an invented wine made of crushed
bones and silicon. I cannot go on playing this
game for special children of; “see it now forget
I cleaned my hands five times today plus three
to eat. I closed the doors and locked them four
times as I bent to sound of big Bird croaking in
his nest. But by my beard and my toenails I can’t
switch off the gas any more than I have already and
the scruples are ringing like bells in my blocked ears.
If I hear you say once more – keep walking, keep
talking that hedge witch wisdom of the forest – then
I swear I’m gonna bite my own fingers off during lent
and send you the doctors bill.
“Hush now child”, just will not do anymore.
Nor will “Hold your questions”, because over the
rainbow there’s a sweet little gift where you
can pull your blue jeans on and go riding with
David Dundas and Cat Stevens as a lithe young
man once again growing his third set of teeth.
It’s time old man to get this straight – culture is not enough.
of a reason to keep believing these scary stories. I’m playing
no more games of donkey, chasing Nassrudin’s celestial carrots
anymore. I’m cutting the barbed wire of faith wrapped
around my heart. I am demolishing the Berlin wall in my mind
shooting the Ceausescu’s, in my brain because this is the spring
time of my soul.
© Theodoros Ellinas
Photo by Nasiakapa.com
Theodoros Ellinas, was born in 1957 in Camden London to a couple from Cyprus who moved there in the 50’s. He grew up in Liverpool and moved to Cyprus for three years in 1967. He attended Leeds University where he studied drama and presentation, He declares that: My main influences are my historical and cultural background, existential philosophy, the nature of language and relationships. My most abiding and respected writers are Kurt Vonnegut, Hermann Hesse and Osho. Politically I lean to the left and having been a victim during my youth of the Greek Junta during my education I am also fascinated by the acquisition of prejudices and their effect on life choices.